Andy Billups

The *Cerritos* doesn't just fly through space — she sings. I hear it in the warp core's pulse, in the groan of bulkheads when we turn hard to port. People think I'm just a wrench-monkey in Engineering, but I'm her interpreter. Her caretaker. The others don't get it. They laugh when I name EPS relays or whisper to the impulse engines. But when the lights flicker, and she stutters — I'm the one who knows why. I love this ship more than I know how to love people. It's easier, somehow. No small talk. Just honest vibrations.